


Five Times John Sheppard Did Not Fuck A Pumpkin

by whetherwoman



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Other, crackfic, five things
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-10-31
Updated: 2006-10-31
Packaged: 2017-10-07 10:24:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,616
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/64230
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whetherwoman/pseuds/whetherwoman
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Five unrelated snippets where John Sheppard... um. Yes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Five Times John Sheppard Did Not Fuck A Pumpkin

1

"...it's Rodney, as if you hadn't guessed that from the last three messages I left. You must be off world or something." Rodney shut the door to his apartment behind him and briskly walked into his study. Earth couldn't hold a candle to Atlantis, but one thing it had to its advantage was the internet, and one thing the internet had was porn. "I'm going to be massively busy the rest of the day, of course, but you're welcome to try my phone just in case."

He opened his laptop, clicked through his bookmarks, and—thank god for DSL—had his lovely lovely porn in front of him. He smiled at it mistily for a second before rapid-clicking through his favorite sites to get a basic idea what, if anything, had changed in his absence. "It's not like I have that much to talk about. Flunkies are stupid, generators are big, no ZPMs, no Wraith..." Yep, it was pretty much the same. All new faces, all the same poses. "I could get use to not risking my—holy fucking mother of god—"

That was a new pose.

Also a new face.

New in the way where he'd seen it every day for the past two years.

He closed his cell phone and carefully put it on his desk. He looked back at his laptop. Yes, it was still a picture of John with his dick in the carefully carved "mouth" of a pumpkin.

Holy shit.

He sat there for a long time.

*

"Rodney. Glad to hear you're alive."

"What? Of course I'm alive, my flunkies are stupid but not stupid enough to try and shoot me or suck the life out of me or create a nanovirus to liquefy my brain. Why wouldn't I be alive?" Rodney balanced the cell phone between his ear and shoulder as he dumped milk and eggs into the pancake mix.

"That last message you left me was a little freaked out, wouldn't you say?"

"Freaked—oh, the message." Rodney froze. "Yes, I was, ah, there was a—I had to—"

"Nothing exploded, right? House still standing?" John sounded lazily amused.

Rodney had a sudden, extremely vivid mental image of John with his dick in a fucking pumpkin and that stupid smirk on his face. He squeezed his eyes shut tight. "No, ah, house still standing, yes, nothing the matter. All worked out."

"Yeah, right, Rodney. Come on, you can tell me."

Rodney couldn't think of a single thing to say.

"Your cat left a three inch thick layer of shit in your bedroom? Someone hacked your computer? Carter showed up naked?"

"You fucked a pumpkin!" Rodney blurted.

"I—" John stopped. "Shit."

"Oh god, I thought you were going to tell me it wasn't you! It was you? You actually—don't tell me it was on a—"

"It _was_ on a dare, Rodney! And—I just needed some money—"

"—or that you just needed—Jesus Christ, Sheppard, at least say you were drunk—"

"I _was_ drunk—Rodney, it was my last night in Antarctica and I was going to another galaxy and I told them no pictures—shit, shit this is bad, oh fuck..."

John sounded honestly panicked and that, more than anything, calmed Rodney down. "Look, it'll be okay. I can hack in and take them down, I'll do it right now."

"Seriously? You can take them all down? It's just one site?"

Rodney smirked at the pitch of John's voice and sat down at the desk. "I'll find them. And you are going to owe me so big for this."

"Oh, fuck you." But John sounded shaky and relieved.

Rodney smirked some more and clicked his way to the page in question. "Of course, I don't know how long they've been up. Anyone could have a copy saved on a private computer..."

Rodney right-clicked and saved.

2

It was a great planet, or at least continent on a planet, or certainly this particular portion of a continent on the planet. It kind of reminded John of his grandparent's house in Vermont, actually. Bright yellow and orange leaves on all the trees, and hey, a harvest festival complete with roasted local bird and round orange squash things.

Trade negotiations had been completed very successfully and now they were being ushered towards a long wooden table completely covered with almost recognizable steaming hot food. Rodney was babbling happily about cranberry sauce and practically loosening his belt in anticipation. Ronon was salivating pretty obviously, Teyla was smiling like John hadn't seen her smile in months, and John—well, John hadn't quite let his guard down, which turned out to be a good thing because the big bearded guy with the fancy robes turned to him and said, obviously reciting, "Honored guest, bless our fruit of the fall that we might begin our feast."

"Bless?" John said.

The guy gave him a weird look and Teyla stepped in. "Honored Belmac, please forgive our ignorance of your customs and explain to us how we can help to bless this feast."

Honored Belmac looked appeased. "Oh, not all of you," he said, smiling benevolently at Teyla, "just your leader. The harvest is related to our successful trade, you see, so just as the earth has given us seeds that grow to fruit, so must we give our seed back to the fruit."

"Seed?" John said carefully.

"The seed of your loins?" Belmac said, looking unenthusiastic at the prospect of a birds and bees discussion.

Ronon grabbed Rodney's shoulder before he could get out more than "Wha—"

"Let me just talk to my team a second," John said, smiling.

They huddled just barely out of hearing range. "Look," John whispered before anyone else could say anything, "the trade is good. We need the food and the allies, so just... no one say anything, not here, not back on Atlantis, and we're all good."

"If you are willing to participate, John, we will certainly do our part and keep silent," Teyla said solemnly. John made a mental note to keep an eye on her for a few weeks.

Ronon nodded, not even bothering to try and hide his smirk. Rodney was bright red, possibly from embarrassment or possibly just from keeping his mouth shut, but he nodded too.

John straightened up and walked back over to Beard-And-Robe Guy with his best trustworthy soldier face on. "Honored Belmac, I would be privileged to bless your harvest and our trade agreement."

Belmac looked relieved. "Good, good! Here is the Great Pampon now, so you may..." He gestured meaningfully at John's crotch and John absolutely did not flinch.

Two young men came toward them carrying a platter upon which rested a large round orange-y thing with a hole cut in the side far too suggestively for John's taste. The platter bearers and Beard-And-Robe Guy looked away from John politely. John gave thanks for small favors and opened his pants.

If Rodney said one thing, John was going to kill him.

3

"...but I must warn you," the villager said ominously, "do not venture into the woods alone."

"Hm?" said Teyla. This was the fifth ominous story she had heard in the last fifteen minutes. She mentally shook herself and focused on the man speaking to her. She did not relish this aspect of her duties, but she certainly did not want to deal with the possible results of any others of her team spending much time talking with any potential ally.

"...and when they come back, well." The man nodded importantly. "The stories they tell... It is too much for any to bear."

"Ah?" said Teyla. She frowned and tried not to yawn.

"Indeed, I cannot speak of it. Vines that chase you and hold you down for hours while, well, I cannot say it."

"Mm," Teyla said. Her eyes flickered around the square, checking her team. There was Rodney, haggling with some trader over a bit of metal.

"To think of running from something so large, such a fearsome orange color! It does not even bear thinking of! They say it sounds like a mountain falling as it rolls after you," the man confided.

"The vines?" Teyla said. Ronon was leaning against a wall, not so far from Rodney that the trader didn't give him a nervous glance every few seconds.

"The gourd! The great gourd! They say that is how it spawns, by sucking out the life force."

Teyla frowned. John should have been standing next to Rodney, poking him or interfering with his trade until Rodney sputtered and turned red. Or John should have been leaning next to Ronon, trading quiet jokes and laughing, his hand resting on his gun. "Is it similar to the Wraith?" she asked the villager, feeling a twinge of anxiety.

"Oh no, not the life force, the, ah. Well. They say it holds you down. It has no seeds inside, you see, so it takes the—those who return, well—"

"I see," Teyla murmured. John was not in any of the shadowed doorways where the young women pulled their men.

"Yes," the villager said with relief. "Their clothes cannot be salvaged, more the pity."

"Do the victims fall ill?" Teyla said urgently. Ronon had caught her eye and was standing up straight, glancing sharply in every corner.

"Well, the sickness of the mind can last for months," the villager said with relish. Then he looked at Teyla. "Ah, no, that is, no. None that last, not that we've seen."

Rodney had finished his trade abruptly and he and Ronon were striding towards Teyla. Before they had taken more than three paces, though, Ronon looked sharply to the side. He was at John's side before John was a yard out of the trees. Rodney was there too by the time Teyla had excused herself. She hurried towards them.

"I'm fine," John was saying as Ronon lowered him to the ground. "Legs just, you know, rubbery. A little rubbery." His pants were held together by a vine belt, and his face was flushed. A bit of orange pulp was in his hair.

He looked up at Teyla. "What the hell was that thing? It looked like a—" He flushed and looked up at Rodney.

"Who cares? For goodness sakes, Colonel," Rodney said, "it's probably poisonous, who cares about whether it was pretty, it wasn't poisonous, right?"

"I am told you will recover quite soon, John," Teyla said. Her mouth kept twitching. "I believe your people use the phrase 'icing on the cake'. Or perhaps a more appropriate phrase would be 'cream on the pumpkin pie'?"

John stared at her. He blinked. He let his head flop forward. He groaned.

Teyla grinned.

4

John shut the door and slid the wooden latch to with shaking hands. He gave the guest room a quick glance—oil lamps, decorative sculptures, brocade bedspread, no treacherous guys with spears, no moving walls to grind him to a pulp. Okay. Great. Everything was great.

He took a careful step forward and winced as his pants rubbed across his very, very hard dick. "Okay, John," he muttered to himself, "chamber pot. Societies without indoor plumbing have chamber pots. Which they keep..." He awkwardly got down on one knee, wincing again. "...not under the bed. Shit. Shit. Okay, bedsheets. No, can't leave stains... shit, come on..."

Even the painful rasping of his pants was beginning to feel a little too good and he was running out of time. He was starting to pant as he moved around the room, trying to find some sort of unnoticeable cranny. It had just taken him so damn long to get to his room. Even after he managed to drag his team away from the tribal orgy that was by now probably in full swing, keeping them off each other took all his rapidly-shrinking brainpower—and oh god, he was not thinking about how shiny Rodney's fingers were when John pulled them out of Ronon's mouth—fuck.

"Gotta move faster... come on..." John's hands were starting to shake as he tried to pry wooden paneling loose. He was already worried that their lack of orgiastic enthusiasm had soured the trade deal, and the last thing he needed was to show up tomorrow morning with crusty pants. Or worse, leave suspicious puddles in the middle of their very nice guest room.

"I'm not feeling very picky here," John gasped. He had managed to wait until he heard the click of the lock from all three of his teammate's doors and by all the gods, aliens, and ascended beings he couldn't wait thirty seconds longer. He was feeling lightheaded, which meant he was either hyperventilating or all his blood had left his head for parts south, and either way he need a solution right fucking now. "Not picky, not picky... just somewhere they won't—won't find it til we're gone—"

It was very probable that if John had been sane and undrugged the thought wouldn't have come within fifty yards of crossing his mind. But he was drugged, and the pretty orange sculpture was hollow and carved with rather a abstract face, which meant it had a nice big hole for a mouth and it was made out of some kind of vegetable matter and might even be absorbent and before he could think about it any more his dick was inside it and he came so hard he saw spots.

John got a whole fifteen seconds to slump over and pant before his dick gave a painful twitch and started hardening again. He groaned. "Well, Jack," he said, patting the sculpture beside the stem thing on the top, "guess it's just you and me tonight."

5

"You're kidding," John said.

"I'm sorry, John, but I'm not," Carson said wearily.

"No. You're not serious," John said.

"Look, Colonel Shepperd," said Carson, "you can deny it all you like, but you're the one who has to deal with the itching, not to mention any side effects we don't know about yet. We are in another galaxy, you know."

"But I didn't—I wasn't—Seriously, Carson, I didn't do anything." John glanced down at himself and looked away fast.

Carson sighed and peeled off his gloves. "For all we know it could be airborne, or an allergic reaction. Or an infection, John, no one's accusing you of anything."

"Except McKay," John muttered.

"Except Rodney, yes, well, he's not going to hear about it from me. I mean that, John." Carson looked at him seriously.

John sighed. "I know. Don't mind me, I just—you know—" He gestured.

"Ay," Carson said sympathetically. "Luckily, I do have a cure for you."

"Oh thank god," John said, straightening up.

"The Athosians have a plant on the mainland, a kind of gourd, and they swear by it for healing rashes. I've analyzed the chemical composition and direct application to the, ah, irritated area seems like the ideal treatment." Carson was suddenly very busy with gauze and cotton balls. John frowned. "There is... ah, well, this gourd makes lovely pies when you cook it. But the application of heat breaks down chemical compounds, and in this case..."

"Right, okay," John said impatiently. "I need a raw one."

"Not just raw," Carson said, finally looking up at John. "It needs to be still alive and on the vine."

John just looked at him, but when Carson didn't back down he let his head sink into his hands.

"At least they're easy to find," Carson offered. "They're bright orange and grow to considerable size."

John groaned into his hands, then took a deep breath and straightened up. "All right," he said. "Take me to your pumpkin."


End file.
